


The Light Which Cleanses

by Barkour



Category: Prince of Persia (Video Game 2008)
Genre: During Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:38:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alchemist poisons the Prince. Elika has one shot at saving him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light Which Cleanses

**Author's Note:**

> This follows the third encounter with the Alchemist--as is obvious, I imagine.

Near, near. The fertile ground called to her through the miasmic whispering of the corruption; it keened. "We're nearly there," she said.

He landed hard on his knee. The beam trembled beneath her feet. He threw his arm up against the cliff and leaned forward, hanging out over the empty, choking air and the blackened water so far below. A mist like ink spilled on parchment twined along his skin, fog rising off soiled earth.

"Get up," she said, "you must stand--"

"I'll do that," he said. His breath labored. "No problem, you just gotta give me a moment--"

He bent over the edge--she reached for him, to catch him before he fell, to catch him before he was lost--but he did not fall, only leaned far out from the beam and vomited. Thick, dark bile, spotted with blood. He retched again, then cleared his throat and spat, and sat back on his heels.

Elika crouched quietly beside him. His chest worked. Softly, she touched his shoulder. Beneath his skin, the corruption roiled; it licked between her fingers, black smoke and wet. Her palm burned with it, though his skin was cold against her hand.

"Fuck," he said. He tried for a grin. Blood shone at the corner of his mouth. "Sorry. Don't mean to, uh, corrupt your delicate ears." His face was drawn, the skin taut over his bones, which flickered like shadows cast by a lamp.

"That isn't funny," she said, more harshly than she intended. "And my ears aren't that delicate."

"Oh?" he said. His voice hitched. "You talk about fucking a lot?" A spool of ink unwound in his eye, eating at the blue.

She stroked his shoulder. "Can you stand? The fertile ground is near. If you cannot stand, I might be able to carry you."

He laughed. His eyes creased. "That might be a little too much excitement for me right now," he said, "but if the offer stands later, I'll take it."

He straightened carefully, his hand flat upon the cliff wall for balance. Elika straightened with him. Her fingers slipped down his arm, to rest in the chilled crook of his elbow. She ran her thumb down his forearm. He looked at her beneath his scarf, and he smiled.

"Hey," he said, "don't look so worried. A little custom Elika healing and I'll be as good as new. Better, maybe. You don't think you could do something about this knot in my back, do you?"

What if it doesn't work? she wanted to ask him. What if you are lost? She thought of this nameless stranger dead at her feet, eaten from within by Ahriman's corruption. His brow crinkled when he smiled. The scar on his cheek, lit black, distorted.

She took her hand from his elbow. "Let's keep moving," she said.

He bowed his head and gestured. "After you."

She caught his outstretched hand. "Stay with me," she said. "Please."

Then turning from him, Elika leapt out into the air stretching endlessly before her. He followed, trailing death behind him. O, Ormazd, she prayed, let this work; let me use these gifts to heal him; do not allow your brother to take him. His footsteps, slowed by corruption, sounded at her back.

"Faster!" she shouted. "There is no time!"

Then the fertile ground opened before them and she was running, she was flying. _Fleet of foot and light of wing,_ sang her mother. Elika threw the memory from her. He fell to one knee, then to both, and dropped behind her within the first ring of the grounds.

Please, she thought. She called up the light as she ran to the heart of the grounds, tore it out of her blood as she would a loose thread from cloth. She threw her arms out wide and planted her toes in the center, and the light came to her; it spilled out of her, pure and so bright, a blue sun rising out of her. She thought no more.

The ground caught her. Grass-- She smelled grass and new flowers blooming, clean water rushing through the canyon. She glowed still, suffused with Ormazd's blessing. Him, she thought and she rose, too quickly; she scraped her hand open upon the ornate carving which marked the heart of the fertile ground.

He was bowed on hands and knees--dead, she thought, dead--but his flesh was clean, clean and brown and gleaming with sweat beneath the sun. Thank you, she thought, to Ormazd but also to him, this man who sucked in a breath of air as if it were his first. The sun shone hot above.

She went to him.


End file.
